Wooden Nickels: White Lightning Series, Book 1

by Debra Dunbar

  Vincent laughed. “Elmer Capstein. We meet again!”

  Capstein nodded. “Sorry about those.” He gestured at the receding boat. “I can’t abide rudeness.”

  Vincent said, “Glad you came around. I was about to make an ass of myself. What are the odds of running into you?”

  Lefty underscored, “Yeah. What are the odds?”

  Capstein returned a tight smile. “We have a shipment of hash coming in from Dominica. I’m here to broom away any unwanted notice before nightfall. I was certainly not expecting to find anyone from the Baltimore Crew here.”

  Lefty said, “Nor were we expecting to be here. Emergency stop for fuel. We’ll get outta your hair in two shakes.”

  Capstein glanced past the two at Hattie, then at Raymond. “I see. Bold move bringing a colored crewman this far south.”

  Raymond popped his head up. “What, now?”

  Capstein lifted a hand. “No offense intended. But, you should know, conditions have grown unfavorable for coloreds in the south end of the Chesapeake.”

  Vincent grumbled, “These Bianco Fiore goons?”

  With a sigh, Capstein said, “They’re growing in numbers every week. Making it difficult to do business with the Caribbeans, but they’re not centralized. No head to cut off. It’s a conundrum.”

  “And,” Vincent added, “it seems they’ve got a beef with us paisans.” He nodded to Lefty. “Which is kinda ironic, considering they’re calling themselves Bianco Fiore.”

  “I think it’s their notion of being clever,” Capstein said. “It’s an enormous mess. If the Feds could’ve come up with a better scheme to shut down boat-legging on the Bay, I can’t imagine what it would have been. But this is all grassroots. Best we can do is double our guard and keep our eyes open.”

  Lefty said, “Perhaps it’s worth a little cooperation between our people and yours?”

  Capstein glanced from Lefty to Vincent, his gaze holding steady as Vincent squirmed. “Perhaps.” Capstein cleared his throat and turned away. “I took care of your fuel. Again, my apologies for such inhospitality.”

  “Thank you,” Vincent called as Capstein disappeared around the corner of the wharf.

  Hattie reached for Vincent, pulling him close. “Who was that, then?”

  “That,” he replied, “was Elmer Capstein. He’s one of the Upright Citizens’ pinchers.”

  “Is that what the wind was all about?”

  Vincent nodded. “He’s an air pincher.” He leaned in to whisper, “Best to stay clear of him. He’s a stand-up guy, best as I know. But, he’s on the hunt just like Vito.”

  She nodded thoughtfully, releasing his arm.

  They finished fueling and turned the boat back toward the Bay. Raymond piloted in silence beside Hattie while the others conferred in privacy.

  “You okay?” she asked Raymond.

  His mouth curled into a tight frown, and he took a few breaths. “What’s all this nonsense? Blanco Fury?”

  “Bianco Fiore,” she corrected. “Remember that night we holed up under the tree before this lot came to bail us out?” She wagged a finger at Vincent and Lefty.

  “Like I’m gonna forget that.”

  “Well, those were the Bianco Fiore.”

  Raymond’s face soured. “Well who the hell are they? Thought it was some gangster business.”

  “I’m afraid not, Raymond. They weren’t after the booze or the money.”

  He muttered, “They was after me?”

  Hattie nodded.

  Raymond shook his head with a sardonic chuckle. “Well, that’s just fine…ain’t it?”

  “Sounds like a bunch of hoodlums out to make life difficult for your people.”

  “Hell, Hattie. It ain’t never been easy for us.”

  “No,” she agreed, “but it’s getting more dangerous with these gunmen hunting down anyone of a certain complexion. I don’t know what’s emboldened them, but you’ve already been singled out.”

  He tightened his grip on the helm. “Well, they ain’t stoppin’ me, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

  “I’m not asking that at all. However,” she added with a sigh, “this running about looking for Bimini Island? It’s putting you at risk, and I won’t have’t.”

  “Where you expect me to go?” he grumbled.

  Hattie peered over the water, gaining her bearings. “How far is Maudite’s? You can hole up there until we get this business concluded.”

  Raymond sighed. “Hattie, no. I ain’t leavin’ you with these criminals.”

  She leaned in close. “I can handle myself, Raymond. It’s you we have to protect, now.”

  He grimaced at her.

  Hattie said, “Look. I don’t trust them, alright? But I do trust that they don’t cause trouble without a reason. And we haven’t given them any reasons. That’s more than I can say for these Fiore lunatics.”

  “Shit,” he spat. “Yeah, Maudite’s just across the Bay and a bit north.”

  Hattie made her way to the bow and informed the others of the new plan. Lefty seemed especially enthusiastic, casting a concerned glance back toward Raymond. Vincent wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of doubling back, no matter how short a throw it was. Hattie explained that they were basically at the mouth of the Bay, and that they’d managed to overshoot Bimini Island anyway. Turning north was inevitable, at this point.

  The sun began to set as the boat rounded the mud flat landmark leading to Maudite’s. The golden glow spread across the water, bathing the marsh grass and sporadic trees on the shore with its warm hues.

  Vincent stretched and frowned. “This gin joint got a kitchen?” he asked. “I’m starving over here.”

  “Didn’t you eat anything this morning?” Hattie chided.

  “I did not,” he stated. “Nor have we had a lunch.”

  Raymond chuckled. “That’s life on the water, big man.”

  Vincent smirked. “Well, I’m more of a solid land and regular meals sorta guy.”

  Lefty lifted his hand. “Quiet. All of you.”

  Hattie swallowed back her pithy retort and followed Lefty’s glance.

  A plume of dark smoke rose from the marsh to the north.

  Hattie whispered, “That’s…”

  Raymond hammered down the throttle, and they all swayed to catch their balance. Hattie climbed the engine house to gain a better line of sight. Within minutes, orange and red flames rose into view, flickering in and out of the remains of Maudite’s.

  Raymond nearly grounded the boat, easing it into a broadside against the marsh grass before leaping ashore. Hattie killed the engine and looked for a spot to moor the boat, finding nothing suitable. With a shrug, she dropped the mooring line and jumped ashore to follow Raymond. He’d made it almost halfway to the blaze before she caught up with him.

  Raymond stopped at a safe distance, shaking his head at the scene. The flimsy roof collapsed into the rubble, sending a spray of sparks into the darkening sky.

  Vincent trotted up alongside Hattie. “Any survivors?”

  She peered into the fire and sucked in a breath, spotting two charred bodies beneath the fallen timbers before she could look away.

  Raymond paced, then released an anguished shout.

  Setting her jaw, Hattie stared out at the water, the grass flickering from the flames behind her. “Was this the Bianco Fiore, do you think?”

  “What makes you think that?” Vincent asked.

  “This was a place for…” She couldn’t find the words.

  “I see,” Vincent said. “Then it probably was those sons of bitches.”

  Raymond wheezed, “Why? Why would…?”

  Hattie wove her arms around Raymond’s midsection to give him a squeeze. Being shot at was one thing. It was short, direct. It was war. But this? There was a savagery to burning people alive inside a building. It was an act of terror. A message.

  Lefty approached and Hattie shook her head, warning him of the scene. The man’s eyes were in constant motion,
watching the fields of grass and the scattering of trees surrounding the area.

  Unwinding herself from Raymond, Hattie took a cautious step toward him. “What is it?”

  Lefty lifted a finger to shush her.

  Vincent joined Lefty in his vigil. “You see that, too?”

  Hattie asked, “See what?”

  Something whizzed past Hattie’s ear just as a distant pop sounded from the trees.

  Raymond grunted.

  More shots.

  Lefty reached for his pistol to return fire as Vincent pulled Hattie down into the marsh grass.

  A heavy thud beside them knocked a breeze across Hattie’s face. She turned to find Raymond gripping his stomach. He coughed and moaned as his face drew into a mask of agony.

  “Raymond!” she screamed as she crawled toward him.

  The man cried out in pain as she reached for him.

  Lefty dropped to a knee on the other side of Raymond, tossing his pistol to Vincent. “Here!”

  Vincent caught the gun and fired two more shots toward the trees.

  Lefty leaned down, trying to pry Raymond’s hand away from his wound. “Help me.”

  Hattie rested a hand on Raymond’s forehead. “Let us see!”

  Raymond’s eyes clamped shut, his teeth bared in a silent wheeze of pain. Lefty managed to pull the man’s finger high enough to inspect the wound.

  He nodded to Hattie. “Roll him toward you.”

  Vincent fired another shot, then dropped to the grass. “Empty. Got a reload?”

  Hattie reached over Raymond and pulled hard on his hip to angle him off the ground.

  As Lefty reached beneath him, he shook his head. “On the boat.” Lefty fished around for a few seconds, then nodded for Hattie to ease Raymond back down. “Exit wound. Went through. If it didn’t clip anything important, he could survive.”

  Hattie asked, “Can we get him to the boat?”

  Vincent peered up above the grass and was answered with a single gunshot. “They’re closing in. I think they know we’re outta bullets.”

  Hattie snarled. “Can we get him to the boat?”

  “Won’t do much good.” Lefty shook his head. “Closest decent hospital’s in Richmond, but I don’t think we’ll have any luck getting someone to help him there.”

  “By the time we get him to Baltimore, he’ll bleed out. No choice but to take him to Richmond,” Vincent told him.

  “Then he’ll die here, or he’ll die in Richmond.” Lefty shrugged.

  Hattie reached over and slapped his face. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever say that. He will not die!”

  Lefty kept his face turned, staring into the grass as Hattie drew heavy breaths.

  She gasped. “Do you understand? He will not die. Not while I’m alive to do something about it.”

  Vincent peeked over the grass again. “Six of them that I can see. Maybe more in the trees, but it’s too dark to tell. Coming right for us. They know where we are.”

  Hattie covered her ears and shut her eyes, rocking herself as she tried to think. Raymond coughed, groaning some more as she knelt beside him. Vincent placed a hand on her shoulder. With a quick, explosive motion she slapped it away.

  “Hey,” he shouted. “Listen to me! How sure are you about this Doc Freedman?”

  She scowled. “What?”

  “This elixir. This Aqua Vitae?”

  Hattie’s scowl eased. “I don’t…”

  “If he’s real,” Vincent pressed, “and if he’s out there, he may be your friend’s only chance.”

  Hattie whimpered. She knew very little about this Doc Freedman. All she knew was that Little Teague had enough faith to run for Bimini Island when he was dying. Did Hattie have the same faith?

  “How bad is he?” she asked Lefty.

  “I’m not a battlefield medic. I was infantry. But I’ve seen men last a full day in the field after taking one in the gut. It depends on if he’s bleeding.”

  Vincent grumbled, “We’ll all end up bleeding, if we don’t do something about these backwater bastards.”

  Hattie balled fists, then reached for Raymond’s arm to give it a squeeze. “Hey.”

  He opened his eyes just a little.

  She smiled at him. “You hear that? You got a battlefield medic here with you.”

  Lefty mumbled, “Actually, I said I wasn’t—”

  Hattie continued, “He’s going to take care of you, and we’ll get you to a doctor. One way or another.” She turned to Vincent. “You and I will deal with these idiots.”

  “You got a plan?” he asked.

  “Just get ready.”

  Hattie waved her hands in an X over her face. “Disappear.”

  Light pinched over her face, curving all the way around her so that she became invisible to anyone besides Vincent. She stood up in the grass to survey the field.

  Six gunmen approached, rifles lifted. They looked like hunting rifles…not the machine guns the gangsters preferred. Hattie took a step forward, testing her illusion. It seemed to hold, as none of them reacted.

  The illusion was cheaper than she’d figured. Night was falling, and the entire field was shrouded in shadow, dancing with the blaze beyond them. Nothing was easy to spot, here. Which would make a more ambitious illusion equally as economical.

  Hattie reached out to claw the air in front of her. “Soldiers!”

  Light popped in several points around the field as she willed illusions into being. About three dozen soldiers in helmets, all carrying machine guns—all of them colored folk. Her illusions opened fire on the gang of riflemen, sending them sprawling into the grass themselves.

  Hattie turned to Vincent and nodded. “Go get ’em.”

  Vincent snapped his fingers, and the sound of gunfire from her illusions folded into a muddy mumble of thuds. The flames rising from Maudite’s curled into lazy sweeps until they froze in place, glowing red sculpture of blazing ice.

  Vincent shoved his way through the marsh grass, the stiff brown stalks remaining parted as he plowed forward. He reached the first gunman and snatched his rifle. As he took aim at the man frozen in time, he paused. With a curl of his finger, he beckoned Hattie forward.

  Hattie shoved her way through the stiff air and marsh grass to stand beside Vincent. Peering down into the grass, she saw the same young buck who had threatened them at the James River wharf.

  Hattie mouthed the words, “That wee bastard!” but her voice couldn’t press through the bubble of frozen time.

  Vincent twisted the rifle in his hands and offered it to Hattie.

  She gripped the stock and hoisted it to her shoulder, aiming the barrel at the back of the young buck’s head. Her hands trembled. This could have been the very person who’d shot Raymond. Even if it wasn’t this man, he would have if given the chance. They all would. These weren’t men. They were animals—rabid animals that needed to be put down.

  Hattie eased the barrel closer to his skull. The gun bobbed and swiveled as her hands quaked. She bit down on her lip, eased her finger onto the trigger.

  And let out a silent scream as she lowered the rifle. Her fingers released the weapon, which hung midair. Vincent scooped the rifle from its frozen spot and watched Hattie as she lifted her hands to cover her face.

  She should have! These monsters deserved it! So, why couldn’t she pull the trigger? As she wept, her lungs burned, heaving against the stiff air. Hattie pulled her hands away, giving her cheeks a quick wipe to clear away the tears.

  Vincent tapped her arm, bobbing his head at her to ask if she was okay. She nodded in response. The time pincher turned to consider the young buck, still hunkered in the middle of the marsh grass, then looked back at her, motioning for her to turn around.

  He didn’t want her to watch. Her stomach lurched as she saw him press the barrel against the man’s head and pull the trigger. Cringing, she shut her eyes. Vincent was a gangster. This is what he did—it was what all of them did. They were on mob business, and an act of v
iolence against them was an act of war in the eyes of the Baltimore Crew. Such a thing could not go unpunished. He’d let most of them go the first time, when the men had accosted their boat on the rum run, but clearly it was time for a stronger message. Don’t mess with the Crew. It was a message Hattie got loud and clear as she peeked over at Vincent. He was making his way around the scattering of gunmen, delivering what would be a killing bullet to each of them before tossing their weapons aside, pausing once to grip his stomach.

  They’d shot Raymond. They would have killed all of them given the chance. It shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. This was what her life would be like if the Crew pressed her into service. This was what she would become.

  Once the last of the gunmen had been dealt with, Vincent snapped his fingers once more. Time returned, and Hattie’s mirage soldiers flickered into darkness. Six shots cracked out from the field around them as the Bianco Fiore thugs lurched to the ground, dead. Vincent coughed and spat into the grass with a moan.

  Hattie dragged in a deep breath, trying to forget what she’d just seen. “Now what?”

  “Now,” he replied, “we find a water pincher.”

  Chapter 22

  “You’re getting this man to Richmond,” Vincent whispered to Lefty.

  Lefty checked Raymond’s pulse, then shot a quizzical glance up at Vincent. “You’re serious. I can tell when you’re serious.”

  “He’s not gonna make it to Baltimore,” Vincent urged. “I know we got people, but the boat ride will kill him. You get him to Richmond. Hattie and I have to find this Freedman mook.”

  Hattie gripped Vincent’s elbow as she eased around to crouch beside Raymond. The man had fallen unconscious at some point during the firefight. Lefty had determined that the bleeding had been patched as well as he could manage with the clothes on their backs. Most of Vincent’s jacket had been broken down for field dressing, and Lefty’s shirt had been sacrificed for the cause already. The through-and-through gunshot hadn’t produced what Lefty referred to as “bad signs.” Still, he needed medical attention fast.

  Stroking the side of Raymond’s sweat-pelted face, Hattie stared up at the men with desperation. It twisted something inside Vincent to see her worried like this. If Raymond didn’t make it…